


Excuses And Accusations

by LapsedPacifist



Series: Synchronize Your Dogmas [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise, The Culture - Iain M. Banks
Genre: Archer is not as big of a dick as he could've been, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapsedPacifist/pseuds/LapsedPacifist
Summary: Trip got saved by very strange aliens and they were actually pretty nice! Very strange, but they had promised to take him back to the Enterprise, so he wasn't questioning their naming conventions too loudly.Or; Star Trek meets the Culture – by proxy, but it still happens!





	Excuses And Accusations

Trip always managed to get himself into serious trouble, that was more than obvious even to him. Jon and other might have thought that he was too oblivious to see what a liability he was, but that wasn’t true. He was more than aware of his _many_ shortcomings that people just loved to remind him about, and yet he had hoped that he might just be able to so something good here.

He hadn’t. That reactor was new, shiny tech, and he had been very excited about finally getting his hands on it to even think about anything else. Sure, no one could have anticipated the accident, but that was no excuse.

He had been so scared thinking that someone had been hurt in the accident that he hadn’t even realized he had also been wounded. His red blood was a dead giveaway of his alien status, and he had promptly been thrown into jail. No trial or reasoning, simply very xenophobic principles, and there he was. Ten days, alone for most of the time. They didn’t torture him, they didn’t even touch him, not even to take care of his wounds. And that by itself was worse than any beating he could’ve – should’ve – been dealt.

He had been happy to be moved into a proper prison, where there at least were others he could stare at, not simply four grey walls without windows. Boy, did that line of thinking died a fast death! All the physical punishment he had been dreading before now started, first by the guards and then by other prisoners.

He had really thought he was going to die, then, if just for a moment.

And then Seori saved his ass.

Damn, Seori sure was… _something!_

Trip had found Seori deeply unnerving at first, not only because of his appearance. Seori was quite taller than Trip, yet also much slender, almost looking weak. Yet he had a lot of strength in those lean arms of his, evident by the way he kicked ass left and right.

His skin was very pale, with blue and green undertones, and hairless. Trip had also seen what to him looked like soft scales on his shoulders, neck and the upper part of his arms.

Then there was the tail. Trip had at first thought it was part of the prison uniform, long and hairy as it was, seemingly not belonging to Seori at all. That was quite a shock, to be honest.

And yet, he found himself tentatively trusting the man. There was _something_ about him that put Trip at ease, made him feel comfortable for the first time in a long while.

So seeing Seori get strapped down and get his leg cut off was somehow almost worse than the actual torture he had to get through. He had believed the promise of an escape and damned yet person.

What happened afterwards was still a bit blurry.

* * *

And here he was now, aboard this shuttle – or, as they called it, a module – that looked more like a room than a vehicle, had no engines that he could see, hear or feel, traveled faster through the atmosphere than anything Trip had ever encountered and was also completely invisible to the naked eye and any imaginable sensor.

Seori was sitting in one of the few chairs in the middle of the module, his hands crossed in front of him and pointedly not looking at the small floating sphere in the corner. The drone, as Seori had called it, seemingly tried to initiate conversation several times, but Seori was possibly sulking.

Both were ignoring the gruesome wound. The blood had stopped flowing a long time ago, and Seori didn’t seem any worse off, but Trip still couldn’t shake the fear he had felt when the nasty aliens had cut off Seori’s leg.

He couldn’t keep silent any longer.

“Excuse me if I’m askin’ too much, but where the hell are we going?!”

He hadn’t quite meant it to be as loud as it was.

Seori turned to him as to say something, then seemingly had a realization and turned to the floating sphere: “Yes, drone, that’s a very good question. Where _are_ we going?”

“I told you already,” the drone said with what Trip almost thought sounded a bit like petulance, if machines had been capable of emotions. “VFP _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated,_ currently in orbit around this lousy planet.”

Seori dismissed the explanation with a shake of his hand: “Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good. Afterwards, where is that ship taking us? Because I seriously doubt they sent a VFP just to pick me up from that little ‘vacation’.”

There seemed to be no love lost between Seori and the little machine. “You will find that out soon. Please be patient.”

“Excuse me,” Trip said again, now through gritted teeth, “but would it be possible to drop me off somewhere along the way? Preferably, on the Enterprise?”

“The Enterprise?” the drone asked.

“Yeah, it’s an Earth starship–”

“I know what the Enterprise is,” the drone said with clear impatience. “And no, that will not be possible.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner!”

“It will not be possible because the ship has already left the system, not because we are unwilling. Although we _are_ on a rather pressing schedule, so we have no time for any diversions.”

The conversation died afterwards, but Trip wouldn’t have heard it even if they continued. He slowly fell backwards, hit the wall and slid downwards. He couldn’t understand– No, that was a lie. He understood all too well. The Enterprise had left. And they had left him behind.

But maybe there had been an emergency? A distress signal, or attackers, or maybe Starfleet had some urgent orders for them?

Those were some nice thoughts, but Trip knew full well how unlikely each of those happenstances was. Besides, they didn’t even try to talk to him when he was in prison on the planet. He figured they thought it was appropriate punishment, or maybe they had simply gotten tired of constantly saving his ass on every possible occasion. He would’ve too.

But it hadn’t hit him until right now what that exactly would mean. The Enterprise had left, abandoning him on an alien world with only aliens around him. He didn’t know anything or anyone, and he had a very unsettling thought that all his expertise in engineering would be worth nothing, faced with the kind of tech these people possessed. And he still wasn’t sure who these people even were, to be honest. Seori was all too good at not answering the questions he was asked. The only thing that kept popping up in their talks was their culture, of which they were apparently very proud. They were complete strangers to him.

There was someone gently shaking his shoulder.

He looked up slowly, his eyes focusing back on the interior of the module and he realized that Seori was gently shaking his shoulder.

“Come, Trip, we’re here already. I can see that you’re not well, but the ship can help you, I promise. Can you stand up?”

He stared at Seori’s face, at the scales covering his cheeks and forehead, at the vertical pupils and the flat nose. Completely alien, he thought for a moment.

Then he slowly stood up and made his way towards the exist, Seori floating behind him.

* * *

“Excuse me, but you don’t seem to be faring too well.”

Trip lifted his head and stared at what appeared to be a stack of hay with wings floating in front of him. The thing gently bounced upwards and then back, stopping at his eye-level.

He wanted to laugh at its assessment. Not too well? What an understatement. But what he said was: “How’s Seori?”

“Our friend Ester-Ciansa Seori Aanev Tan dam Simuriie is doing just fine, considering what he went through. He’s currently resting, the planet wasn’t exactly a good vacation spot for him. But I believe I asked about you,” the thing said, its voice melodic and steady.

Trip shrugged. He was fine. He was _always_ fine, he had to be.

“Who’re you?” he asked the floating stack of hay.

“Oh, this is just something I threw together to talk to you,” the stack of hay said. “I didn’t think you'd appreciate a normal drone much. Not many other civilisations do.”

“Then who am I talkin’ to?”

“Me, the Very Fast Picket _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated,_ of course.”

He needed a moment to process that.

“You’re the ship?” he asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“Well, yes. I mean, the ship _itself,_ its hull and engines and everything else are just a casing for my Mind, for my essence, basically.”

Trip almost couldn’t believe his ears. “So, so… Wait, lemme get this straight. So, you’re an AI? Artificial Intelligence?”

“Yes, that is one way to put it, but please don’t use that when talking about me or other Minds, it’s such a degrading way to describe us,” the hay of stack that was actually the ship told him.

Trip thought for a moment.

“D’you have a nickname?”

“Excuse me?” _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated_ asked, sounding surprised, if, again, such a thing was even possible for machines. But it was an intelligence, so emotions had to be at least considered a part of their– focus, Trip!

“Well, sayin’ _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated_ every time I want to ask you somethin’ seems a lil’ extensive,” he admitted.

“Just say ‘Ship’, I’ll know who you mean,” the ship told him.

He smiled at it. “You’re very nice.”

“That’s a first,” the ship commented, and Trip thought he could hear faint amusement in its tone.

* * *

He had also slept for two hours, later on finding out that the ship used that time to mend his wounds as well. There weren’t even any scars when he woke up. Not even those from before, those he had had from before even setting foot on that damned planet.

Seori woke up a bit later, his new leg now functioning even better than his real one, if the ship was to be believed.

“I still want my real one back,” Seori told the ship as they sat next to a raised platform that was functioning as a desk upon which their food sat. Trip thought it tasted rather good, if somehow strange at the same time.

“And I told you, I am growing you one! It will take time, more than you have, and that’s why I gave you a prosthetic in the meantime,” the ship huffed at him.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Seori complained.

The drone – the little floating sphere from before – that was now hovering next to the makeshift table flashed dark grey and muttered something about impertinence. Seori ignored it.

“You will find out in due time,” the ship said, trying to placate him, but Seori wasn’t satisfied.

“In due time? Ship, come on, give me more than that! You have to know where you’re going!”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What do you mean by that? Ship, c’mon, stop fucking around and tell me!”

“What I mean,” the ship suddenly said, with a far more decisive and colder voice than before, “is that I am risking _very_ severe engine degradation, because we are playing catch-up with a fucking GSV. I am right now pulling at about one hundred and ninety eight kilolights, and the only reason that is so is because you were _late_ , so do not complain, Seori, or I will suddenly find it necessary to save energy by putting you under for the remaining journey.”

“I was late? I had no idea any of this was waiting for me!”

“Wait, wait,” Trip interjected. He needed a moment, because– “Did you just say one hundred and ninety eight _kilolights?_ As in, 198 000 times the speed of light?”

Seori and the ship paused their arguing for a moment, just enough for the haystack drone to appear and gently lead him away while the argument resumed behind him, loud and chaotic.

“That would be accurate, yes. You sound surprised?”

“Well, my ship, the Enterprise, can go–”

A soft snort-like noise cut him off. He looked at the haystack, incredulous. “Did you just– snort?”

“Isn’t that what your culture uses to express amusement and sometimes even derision?”

“Hang on, how do you know about our culture? Also– no, wait, you ain’t changin’ the subject!”

The haystack almost looked bashful. “I apologize. I merely wanted to point out that your descriptive language of calling a starship _yours_ is something unheard of in our _culture,”_ it said, putting special emphasis on the last word, the meaning of which escaped Trip.

He gave it a small, nervous grin. “Yeah, I see why that would bother ya. Sorry,” he said, glancing at his shoes as he rubbed his neck. “But, uhm, what I wanted to say was that back on the Enterprise, we can go quite fast – for us. Almost warp 5! An’ I’ve been real proud of that, real proud. Enterprise is the finest starship I’ve seen, let me tell ya. And then _you_ come around, just casually throw out that you can go almost two hundred _thousand_ times the speed of light–”

“With severe engine degradation,” the ship reminded him.

“–yeah, yeah – anyhow, and our top speed is two hundred times c, at max. So you can see why that kinda hit me.”

He looked around the room and saw Seori, the drone and the ship were still involved in that very lively conversation.

He decided to go for it.

“Can I see your engines?” he asked the haystack. “Please, I’ll be real careful and all, I promise!”

Right after the words came out of his mouth, Trip realized just how inappropriate they sounded. Well, it was too late now.

But the haystack only bounced from one side to the other for a moment. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” it told him. “They also operate on a completely different principle than your warp drive, so it wouldn’t help you in any way whatsoever.”

“That’s not what I wanted,” sighed Trip. He really didn’t want everyone to just assume he was out to steal their tech. Sure, he might get an idea or two, but sometimes he just wanted to see things for the sake of seeing them. Besides, there was no way he could adapt the tech they used to reach such speeds to suit the Enterprise. Rather bashfully, staring at the floor, he mumbled: “I jus’ wanted to see, cuz I can’t even imagine how they would operate and all.”

“You cannot imagine because you are not capable of imagining them.”

Ouch. Well, people did often tell him that he wasn’t very bright, but at least there was one area where he usually didn’t have to listen to them, and that was engineering. His safe haven, almost. Well, compared to what these guys had, he was a bumbling idiot. And of course, these beings were vastly more intelligent than humans, that was a given, so it was natural that they thought of humans as not particularly intelligent.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but the ship seemed to realize that it had somehow hurt him as it hurried on to explain: “I only meant to say that you aren’t able to imagine them because in order to do that, you would have to imagine an entirely new dimension. I have met my fair share of brilliant organics, but none were capable of that, sadly. Hyperspace engines exist in normal space as well as – _especially_ as – in hyperspace. That’s why I said you couldn’t imagine them.”

That did lift his spirits somewhat. And he had also just been presented by a very interesting idea!

“But if they exist in hyperspace, how are they tethered to you so well?” he asked, shelving the now placated hurt feelings aside.

The ship went quiet for a moment. “You are very smart–,” it then commented.

“Why do I feel that this is gonna be followed by ‘for a human’, hm?”

“–for an unContacted civilization,” it said. “It might come as a surprise to you, but most organics in our society have since long ago stopped bothering with understanding such matters as engineering and FTL drives.”

“How come?”

“There hasn’t been a need for people to understand such matters since thousands of years. Ever since they created us, Minds, actually. They sure can study and innovate and do whatever they like, but our vast difference in intelligence, thinking speed and our access to hyperspace makes us a lot better at that than organics, humans. So anything they might come up with has already been tried by us, anything interesting they might discover has already been found and examined. So most don’t bother.”

Trip tried to imagine a society so advanced that labor wasn’t needed anymore because everything had already been done. It seemed impossible. Amazing. And–

“Doesn’t it get boring?” he asked.

The ship sounded amused: “Yes, Trip, it does.”

* * *

“They’ve just changed our heading,” Seori alerted him when he bounced over to Trip, after finally winning (or maybe losing? There was no way to tell) the argument. Trip also noticed that Seori was now missing the hairy tail, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“So where are we going?”

“Apparently that whole GSV idea got nixed because the situation has escalated and we’re running out out time. So this beautiful ship right here decided to destroy its engines a bit more and get us to another ship that will come barreling past faster than even that GSV!”

“REU _Don’t Wait For Me_ is a new, experimental class,” the ship commented.t

Seori furrowed his brows – or at least moved the facial lines that reminded Trip of eyebrows – in confusion: “REU?”

“Rapid Engine Unit,” the ship explained. “We’re still working on the name. We were thinking of just calling it RFF, but for some reason that didn’t stick.”

“RFF?” now asked Trip.

“Ridiculously Fucking Fast.”

He should’ve known.

“Since braking and flying slowly enough to send you off in a module would take too long, we’ll be performing a very careful snap displacement,” the ship informed them. Seori groaned and the other drone, the Cyrs something, flashed with dark grey.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, but it’s the only way we can be fast enough.”

“Fast enough for what, ship? You still haven’t told me what my mission is!”

“You’ll find out aboard _Don’t Wait For Me._ That’s all I can say.”

* * *

“Make yourself as small as possible – stick your head between your legs, tuck your arms in and so on. The displacement will be guided by the both of us, but it will also be happening extremely fast, so the chances of it going wrong are quite big.”

“Why do I have to come along?” asked Trip.

“How big?” asked Seori.

“Because I’m needed elsewhere and can’t ferry you back to the Enterprise,” told him the ship. “And one in 37 million.”

“That’s not a lot.”

“That is extremely risky! The next time they offer me a job, I’m turning it down,” grumbled the drone.

“You should’ve turned down this one and spared us both,” told him Seori. “When is that ship going to be here?”

“In a matter of moments. Please assume the positions, this will all be over in a matter of moments.”

* * *

REU _Don’t Wait For Me_ was much smaller than _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated._ They appeared in a small room barely four meters across and no bigger than two and a half in height.

“Welcome,” _Don’t Wait For Me_ said, its voice indistinguishable from human, a low, pleasant baritone. “I am happy that the displacement was a success. I am not quite sure what we would have done were it not so.”

And Trip had just got used to machines – sorry, Minds – not sounding artificial and machine-like when they spoke.

“Hello to you to, ship, can now somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Certainly. Seori, you have to understand that we did not intentionally keep you in the dark. This is such a sensitive matter that we only briefed the select few, and _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated_ was not among them. The whole thing was in SCantk, if you can believe it.”

“That sounds ominous,” Seori said and the ship launched into a long tale about a small civilization they had stumbled upon and how through a series of unfortunate and near disastrous events said civilization decided to attack and eradicate them.

“They are amassing warships as we speak, a battlefleet of an enormous size. The numbers are well into thousands, and they are preparing to attack our flagship and following its defeat, our homeworld.”

That sounded real bad, so when Seori started to laugh, Trip thought for a moment the man had gone crazy.

“And who told them that particular piece of bullshit?” Seori whizzed out.

“I believe they came up with it themselves. The GCU that was talking to them was named _Flagship The Great._ They thought it was serious.”

“Ouch,” winced Seori. “Bet Contact loved that.”

“That particular ship said it felt very remorseful for what was happening. But at the same time it was also gloating that it had managed to stir up more trouble by its sheer existence than any ROU had in the past few centuries outright fighting.”

“Ouch,” Seori winced again.

“So now we have a couple thousand starships, manned by what appears to be half of the populace of that damned empire, preparing to attack what they _think_ is a flotilla of Culture warcraft but is actually just GCU _Temporarily Out Of Order_ pretending to be a flotilla. The trouble is, these people are all about honor and dying in battle, so if they actually go through with the attack, far too many will still die, even if we try to be as nice as possible. And that’s why we need you, Seori.”

“You want me to stop a war from happening?” Seori asked. He sounded unsurprised.

“Yes, basically.”

“So that whole prison stint–”

“If we had approached you before, you would have resisted this mission with everything you had. Besides, it had not been as urgent before. We might have fucked up a bit,” the ship admitted.

“So I’m here to run damage control, basically?” Seori asked. “You need me to unfuck some things you fucked up. Damn. That’s just great. Have you at least cleared the volume of all trigger-happy ROUs and the like? Y’know, so that all the hard work you had to go through to get me here doesn’t go to waste when a jumpy warship decides that they are too loud or something and destroys their entire fleet.”

“Oh, yes. Anybody that would even think about actually attacking their ships has been stationed as far away as possible.”

“And I’m what, supposed to go there and talk to them? Tell them that it’s bad for their health to point their guns at you because they might just lose their heads?”

“You are the best person for this job.”

“That doesn’t assure me in the slightest, ship.”

* * *

“Um, _Don’t Wait For Me?”_ Trip asked tentatively.

Seori was still going over the details about his assignment with the drone and the ship in another corner, talking quietly but animatedly and sometimes even without words.

“You can call me Dowy,” a small ball of hovering liquid that was suddenly in front of him said.

Trip almost jumped up in surprise, but managed to hold himself back. He peered at the ball. “How do you do that?” he asked. “You’re floatin’ without any outside energy input!”

“I am happy that you appear to be so impressed by these simple feats of engineering, but pardon me if I doubt that they were the reason you had called for me.”

“Oh, sorry, that kinda ran away from me… Well, I jus’ wanted to check what were y’all plannin’ on doin’ with me,” he softly explained. He had been thinking about how low his chances of ever seeing Enterprise again were, and they weren’t the most comforting thoughts.

“Well, I have talked about this issue with other ships, as I am more than aware that I cannot be the sole authority on this. The fact that your civilization is unContacted has put us in a bit of a weird position, but we also believe that the decision we have reached more than three hundred years ago about not stepping into contact with you is a bit outdated, even judged by our normal lifespans.”

“So what did ya decide?” He was trying his best not to show just how on edge he was. He didn’t succeed.

“We have arranged for a ship that will take you back to the Enterprise. As soon as we reach our destination, which will be in a matter of minutes, we’ll go and meet it.”

* * *

“Trip, it’s been fun, honestly!” Seori said to him, dressed in what was apparently a spacesuit, but it wasn’t thicker than a couple of millimeters and also completely transparent, so Trip was a bit skeptical.

“Are you gonna be alright down there? In a war zone and all?” Trip had to know.

“Darling, I qualify as a Weapon of Mass Destruction,” Seori said and actually winked at him. For a moment Trip thought that he was serious.

“Don’t worry about us. This piece of hunk,” and Seori tried to pat the drone hovering next to him, but it froze his hand before he hit anything, “will protect me at all costs, right?”

“Sadly, that is indeed my job,” the drone sighed.

“So don’t worry about me! Or anyone, really. That battlefleet? It is _never_ going to reach our homeworld.”

There was something in the way that he said it that made Trip feel like it was all some great joke that they were all in on, except him. Great. “Well, if you’re sure,” he sighed. “I wish you luck.”

Seori smiled and a moment later, the place was empty. Both Seori and the drone were in a module headed for the capital ship of the attack fleet, and Trip could only stare at the retreating form of the small craft on the screen the ship provided for him.

“Well then,” it said, “now let’s get you rolled out too.”

* * *

The next and hopefully his last Culture ship, the one that was going to bring him _home_ – and wasn’t it weird, calling the Enterprise _home_ when that term had been reserved solely for Earth, for solid ground for so long – was close by and ready to receive him.

The ship was called _Considerably Less Welcome_ and it apparently was a Murderer class General Offensive Unit. Perfectly harmless and very nice, _Don’t Wait For Me_ had said. Interesting nomenclature for perfectly harmless, Trip had thought, but he hadn’t said anything. The ship told him he was doing them a favour, really, by hitching a ride on it. They were keeping all warships out of this particular area of space so that none ‘accidentally’ provoked the battlefleet of that pesky empire and eradicated them all before anyone could even say anything, and Trip’s presence aboard this one would make sure that it engaged in no ‘shenanigans’.

GOU _Considerably Less Welcome_ was around three kilometers long and was currently invisible.

It was also the first ship with an avatar that he had seen. An avatar was, as _Considerably Less Welcome_ explained, basically an artificially constructed humanoid through which it could communicate with people.

Except that in Trip’s case, it managed to scare the living shit out of him.

Cons, as the ship called its, was shorter than Trip, but a lot more burly as well as harrier and with six long limbs that supported its pyramid like shape, in which his head was an oval, resting at the top. It had three eyes and long teeth and claws and it reminded him of a vicious animal. But its voice was very pleasant and soft as it greeted him when he arrived, and it moved far more gracefully than he would have given it credit for.

It was also a surprisingly good conversation partner.

“Dowy was just cranky! That kid doesn’t know what’s good for it!”

“Kid?”

“Dowy is less than forty, of course it has no idea what it’s doing. It should listen to _me,_ I know stuff!”

“And how old are you?” Trip asked, glancing around the polished black and white surfaces, the screen the ship had set up that was showing their relative position in space, their heading and their current speed, the latter being more than one hundred fifty kilolights.

“Me? Damn, I’m old. I’m, wooh, has it really been this long? Six hundred and thirty two, kid!”

 _“Don’t Wait For Me_ said you are a warship,” Trip slowly said. “That must make you a very good one.”

Cons stared at him for a moment, then threw its head back and let out a high-pitched noise that _could_ be interpreted as a laugh.

“Vey good, hah! Sure, sure, that too! But nah, I haven’t seen much fighting, really. The Culture is all about pacifism, you know? It wouldn’t be a good look if I went around initiating fights, and others are too scared to approach me.”

“The culture?” Trip asked, feeling like he had missed something.

Now Cons let out a particularly low, grueling tone. “They didn’t tell you anything, huh, kid? The Culture is what we call ourselves. You’re Humans, from Earth, Starfleet and whatnot. We’re the Culture.”

“Isn’t that name kinda… I dunno, cheeky?”

He had been going for pretentious and he had a feeling the ship knew it.

“Well, you’re not going to find many that would dare say anything about that to our face,” Cons said.

Then something else occurred to Trip. “You said you were pacifists,” he asked. “What d’you need warships for?”

Cons gave him a smile that was positively creepy. “To enforce peace, of course.” Then it grew serious: “And no, I’m not kidding. Yes, our policy of tolerance and peace is widely known, but you cannot be tolerant indefinitely, as then you will soon be usurped by other, less tolerant societies, and then all your good work will soon be over and gone. If we want to continue to help people, we need to be ready to defend ourselves. But who am I to talk? I spent most of my time playing taxi.”

“Sorry,” Trip said, but it dismissed his apology with a wave of one of its limbs. “It’s not your fault. You’re actually the first remotely interesting thing I have come across in a long while.”

“You flatter me,” he said. “But, If you don’t mind me askin’, how long till we reach the Enterprise?”

“Since I’m not as fast as the ships that brought you here, a bit longer. Two of your days, perhaps. But don’t worry, I am fully capable of catering to all of your needs.”

Trip couldn’t decide if the tone of voice at that last part had been suggestive or not. He tried not to think about it too much.

“That’s awful nice of ya. How come you’re so nice?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I sincerely hope you don’t think that rudeness is a standard form of behaviour. You haven’t done anything that would warrant anything less than me being completely courteous.”

“‘s nice,” he said. “We don’t often meet very nice people.”

“I only hope when you do meet them, they make up for all the bad ones.”

* * *

“C’n I ask you somethin’?” he asked the ship. He was very tired, that’s why his brain must’ve thought it a good idea to even approach this problem. “You interfere with others a lot, don’t ya? I only say cuz Seori and the drone and that ship all went to meddle with somethin’ or someone. Some big shit battlefleet?”

“Yep, and I am very sad that they didn’t invite me. But to your main question – we do, yes,” Cons admitted. “We interfere, a lot. Not me personally, but we do have entire organizations set up for exactly that reason, to stick their fingers where they don’t belong and hope nothing bites them off.”

“So what would you say, if, hypothetically, somebody _tried_ to help someone? If somebody saw something real bad was goin’ on, if they tried their best to set it right. And. It. Did. Not. Work? They made the matters even worse, they even… They even… they even killed somebody? But they were only trying to help!”

He choked the last few words out in anguish, half collapsed with one of his hands pressed to his mouth to muffle his sobs. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this. For some reason, the fact that other people around him on the Enterprise were his frie– acquaintances that knew him and _expected_ things from him made it even worse. He didn’t think they would understand.

“I suppose you’re talking about the Vissians?” Cons asked him and he froze.

“How d’you know that?” he whispered. “C’n you read minds too?”

“Can, but don’t. No, _Spatial Dimensions Are Overrated_ scanned your ship before it left the system and downloaded, well, everything. It got passed on to me, so that I could understand you better. I’m sorry if I overstepped some boundaries, but I felt it prudent.”

“I guess that saves me the trouble of explainin’,” he sighed.

“Actually, it poses additional questions. Raw data isn’t enough to truly showcase the reasoning behind your actions,” Cons gently reminded him. “I would be very flattered if you chose to confine yourself in me, but I do not expect anything from you.”

The ship was so freaking understanding that it pissed him off. It was so much easier when people yelled at him, told him everything was his fault and that he was a worthless piece of shit. But this? Cold indifference to his horrible actions? This made him want to scream and kick and trash.

“You should be horrified! Angry! Why aren’t you repulsed? A person is dead, and it’s all my fault!” he screamed at Cons. “I was stupid and had no idea what was doin’! I should’ve listened, should’ve respected their norms and never gotten involved! How can you be so calm?!”

“Trip, you’re yelling at a _warship._ I am more than aware what taking people’s lives feels like. Besides, our body count – that of the Culture, and particularly of Contact, the organization that deals with contacting others – is unimaginably high. And yet, we continue to do our work because we believe we can do much more good than harm.”

Cons stood up and walked over to one of the walls. As it approached the wall, the whole side of the room suddenly went black and then a million, billion of little lights appeared in what Trip realized was the shape of their galaxy.

“See those little green points?” Cons said, indicating many a green star amidst the golden ones. “These are all ones Contact got wrong. Many civilizations were ruined, many people have died. We feel grief and shame and sorrow for each and every single one of these. Do you see how many there are?”

Trip nodded. He had no idea where the ship was going with this, but he was willing to listen – for now.

“If we get it wrong so often, why do you think we persist?” Cons asked him, but it was more than apparent that it was a rhetorical question. “It’s because of _this.”_

And at that, the galaxy lit up in pink. Pink dots outnumbered green ten to one, bathing the whole room in soft rosy color. “Every single instance Contact helped and improved something, every time a civilization survived and grew because of our intervention, every time people were _saved_ and not dead because of us. It doesn’t balance out, oh no, it tips the scale in our favor by a considerable margin. We are immensely powerful, yes. And we believe that our immense power also makes us responsible. Is it ethical, is it moral to just stand by and watch others suffer in the name of preserving traditions? Tell me, Trip, just why is their _culture_ more important than the suffering of millions?”

Trip shook his head: “That doesn’t mean we have any right to intervene–”

“You say that we have no right to intervene,” interjected Cons, “and yet, what gives them the right to exist as they do? To abuse and kill people as they wish, simply because they are unable to see the wrongness of their own doing? Because that is the way they _do_ things? If it cannot exist without hurting others, then maybe it shouldn’t exist. You see what I am trying to tell you here?”

“It doesn’t matter what my intentions were,” snapped Trip. “I killed somebody!”

“The cogenitor’s choice was theirs and theirs alone! Sure, they wouldn’t have died if you hadn’t presented them with your way of living, if you didn’t show just how much more a life can be, but you were only trying to help, weren’t you? We do the same things as you did, but for us, it most often ends in success. Do you know what makes us different, Trip? Such events are par for the course for us, and we know how to deal with them. Our immense knowledge and intelligence allows us to subtly influence such civilizations until they change their behavior – or to charge in guns blazing, if that is determined to be the best option. Should you be more careful in the future and not attempt something like this again? Definitely! But was the general idea wrong, trying to save someone despite the fact that their own beliefs and culture held them condemned? No, absolutely not, and you must remember that.”

“So I should just, what, forget about it?” he snapped. “Live my life like I haven’t done somethin’ fuckin’ awful?!”

“No, don’t. Be as angry as you wish, but be angry with the Vissians, how they treated Charles and how horrible their politics and laws are. Don’t beat yourself up, but make damn sure that such a thing won’t happen again.”

Cons stepped away from the wall and rather took position next to Trip. “Charles hasn’t died in vain, despite what you might think. I have talked the matter over with the others, especially with SC, and they assured me they had been observing the Vissians for quite some time and were already getting ready to step in.”

“SC?”

“Special Circumstances. You know, what literally everyone else from the Culture you’ve encountered – apart from me – was a member of? They take care of such _special_ cases.”

“And do what, exactly?”

“Change their society from within. Change their perception, their way of thinking, until there is no more oppression and no more suffering. It’s a very long and painful process, but we have managed many already.”

The exhaustion that had only moments ago left Trip and allowed him some energetically shouting now returned full force, buckling his knees. Cons caught him before he could hit the floor.

“Will– Will anyone have to die?” he quietly asked.

“We don’t know. Possibly. Probably. But far less than if they went on without us.”

“Is that how you justify things? If you listen to us, you won’t suffer? We, us humans, we abhor death and sufferin’, and we _hurt_ when other people die. But you–” he stopped himself, trailed off before he could finish the awful thought.

Cons shook its head and did it for him: “But I am a machine? That only makes me even more aware of every life that I take and extinguish. For you, a thousand, a million is but a number. A terrible, terrible number, but it’s just a number that doesn’t really hurt you unless you were personally hurt by it. For me, who is capable of imaging exactly what that number represents, it’s pure torture.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known. But I can see that you are exhausted, and it would be prudent to rest. It will help you greatly, your emotions are all over the place.”

* * *

When he woke up he felt refreshed and as soon as the memories from the previous day hit him, also ashamed. He tried to apologize to _Considerably Less Welcome,_ but it wouldn’t hear anything and Cons only grinned/smiled threateningly at him over the breakfast table.

“Are we there yet?” Trip asked only so to be annoying. Cons’ lips stretched even further upwards.

“In a matter of hours. The Enterprise is currently in orbit around what you call Lirenji IV, a planet in a binary star system that is a known trading outpost for the more… unsavory types. Not along our usual cruising lines, but we have been there before.”

Cons again turned one of the walls into a screen, this time showing the vastness of space. “There you go, another little display to keep you occupied. If you _really_ want to, I could probably show you some more outdated weapons’ designs, but only if you asked nicely.”

“You’re being weird,” Trip said.

“You have only known me for a day, how do you know what’s my typical behavior?”

Trip crossed his arms and glared at the avatar. “Well, I’m pretty damn sure that a warship shouldn’t be actin’ as a counselor.”

“Humans, so stubborn,” Cons sighed like it had encountered so many humans before. “Fine, you won’t accept my tentative attempt at being gentle and compassionate. What ever shall I do now?”

“C’mon, Cons, quit it.”

But the ship shrugged theatrically and continued: “How shall I ever survive your cold detachment and furious attempts at alienating me from your thoughts and your person?”

“You’re awful.”

“And you aren’t much better, my dear kid. Now shut up, eat your soup and then we’ll see if we can come up with something for you to take home.”

* * *

The ship didn’t mean any food by that, Trip figured out much later.

He still didn’t understand the field technology that was apparently so prevalent through the Culture. Everything, from their ships to their drones to their orbitals, as they called ring-like space stations on which they lived, somehow incorporated these fields in their structure. Even the little semi-drone that the ship and him had constructed together had them.

“Now, don’t even try pulling it apart because it will self-destruct in an instant,” _Considerably Less Welcome_ warned him. “And you’ll also hurt its feelings.”

“But what if it’s damaged?” wondered Trip.

“I told you, it will repair itself!”

“But what if it’s _too_ damaged for that?” Trip insisted.

“Then it will send a distress signal, and the nearest Culture ship that will be as bored as we are most of the time will swing by, repair it and leave. You probably won’t even notice it. Satisfied?”

Trip held the little ball in his hands almost reverently. “And it has 0.7 intelligence, you said?”

“Less than a humanoid, but a lot more than your computers, yes.”

Cons gently poked the still form in Trip’s hands. “And before you ask, it will never run out of energy and it will also never take over your ship and kill anyone aboard. You have the weirdest notions.”

“It’s so…” Trip searched for a word.

“Small? Compact? Silver? Light?”

“–cute,” he finally finished, swatting away Cons’ many limbs. “I still have to come up with a name.”

“Cute,” snorted Cons. It had adapted many human ways of showing emotions over the short two days Trip had been in its presence. “This thing is capable of amazing acts beyond your comprehension, and you call it _cute?”_

“Well, yeah, it’s plenty cute.”

“Perhaps you could name it _Cute,_ ” suggested Cons.

“Nope, not that. Hey, when we’re already talkin’ names, what’s up with yours?”

“Mine?” _Considerably Less Welcome’_ s avatar asked, sounding nonplussed. “What on Earth do you mean by that?”

* * *

“I have already begun heavily braking a while ago, and we are quickly decelerating. We will reach the star system in a matter of minutes. Perhaps it would be wise for you to change?”

Trip looked down at his clothes and realized with a flash of panic that it was still the uniform from the prison, even cleaned and mended as it was.

“Damn,” he said and put _Pensacola_ gently on the floor. He was still working on the name for the drone.

“I prepared some clothes for you, I hope you’ll like them.”

He had no idea what to expect, so finding sensible but tight pants and a t-shirt was quite a relief. Less so that it would’ve been if the clothes weren’t made from some strange shimmering material that seemed to change colour constantly, but always strayed into something silvery-like.

But he didn’t object and changed into the provided dress, giving Cons a smile for its troubles.

“You can probably already see the binary stars of the system,” Cons told him, not firing off a remark about his outfit as Trip might have expected. “I’m coming in very slow, have dropped out of hyperspace ages ago to make our approach that more visible.”

“Very considerate of you,” Trip commented and leaned forwards. The twin suns were still very small on the screen but growing bigger each second. One of them was a red giant, the other a much hotter white dwarf. _Considerably Less Welcome_ automatically highlighted the six planets in seemingly sporadic orbits around the stars. It had also flagged the many asteroids and comets and all major moons around the planets. The system was so full of matter it almost seemed there was no empty space left for the ship. But they were still very far away and Trip was very well aware the whole thing was only an illusion.

They were approaching fast, and soon he could already see the actual outermost planet, a big gas giant with many moons, some of which could almost be called dwarf planets by themselves and also had even smaller rocks as their own, private moons. He watched the swirl of gases over the surface of the giant, noting how different yet similar to Jupiter it seemed. Totally different, he ultimately decided. And they were already past it.

“And there is the Enterprise,” Cons suddenly said from behind him and Trip flinched, realizing the screen had demanded his full attention.

The screen did indeed reveal a tiny speck that Cons claimed was the Enterprise, parked safely in orbit around Lirenji IV, a small and cold planet that barely deserved its Minshara-class categorization.

The speck slowly grew until Trip thought he could actually spot the outline of the Enterprise.

“I guess this is it,” he said. “You’re very nice. I’m very thankful, y’know. You real sure you won’t come with me and initiate a proper first contact?”

“Nah,” Cons said, “I’m not a freaking Contact Unit, I have better things to do. But, you will certainly be reconsidered as a possible species worth of Contact, that I can promise you. I guess you could say that that thing–” and it pointed at the little drone, resting in Trip’s hands, “–is our promise that we will return. But don’t go looking for us! If we need you, _we_ will be the ones to find you. You have seen our tech. If we don’t want to be found, we won’t be.”

Then something gently chimed and Cons span around. “And that would be your lovely crewmates! They’re hailing us. Shall I–”

It paused for a moment, and then the most terrifying smile spread over its face. “Oh, this is going to be good,” it purred.

Then it gently took one of Trip’s hands in its own and pulled him towards the far away wall, where something akin to a bed stood. “You, wait here.”

“Whatcha gonna do, Cons?” asked it Trip. He sincerely hoped it was simply a prank and nothing more.

“Oh, you’ll love this,” Cons actually _giggled_ and strode towards the screen. “Just don’t interfere!”

 

Despite the fact that they had met Klingons and other species that looked almost feral, nothing could prepare Archer for the sight that awaited him when Enterprise’s hails to the mystery ship were answered.

A creature appeared on the screen, a creature of dark red fur and with very long fangs, its three eyes betraying its viciousness without a hint of real intelligence. It stood on three of its limbs, two more raised in what was a very threatening position, one hanging limply to its side. It was speaking right at the camera in what appeared to be perfect English.

“This is _Considerably Less Welcome,_ Offensive Unit – Murderer Class. What do you want from us?”

Archer could almost _feel_ Reed tense as the creature rattled off its ship’s nomenclature. That was a warship, through and through, and if what they were seeing – or, to be precise, what their sensors were unable to see – was something to go by, one that outclassed them in every way possible. It was almost fifteen times the size of the Enterprise and they had to learn that by actually looking, as any and all sensors simply didn’t acknowledge its existence.

He quickly rethought his next response and approached the conversation a lot more pacifying. “Well, we were wondering if you had perhaps encountered a certain ship in your travels. We are looking for it, and think that its flight path might have taken it in your direction.”

“Preposterous!” bellowed the creature. “Why should I concern myself with your pesky little troubles? I should strike you out of the sky for daring to talk to me like that!”

Everyone on the bridge tensed in preparation for battle, Archer desperately trying to defuse the situation: “We’re sorry! We didn’t know you consider something like–”

The creature interrupted him in midst of his speech, now a bit quieter: “But I suppose, if you _were_ willing to offer me a little something in return, then just maybe…”

“What do you need?” he quickly asked. He really hoped it was going to be something they could part with.

“My scans show me that there is a peculiar lifeform aboard your vessel, a dög?”

And there went _that_ idea. “A dog, yes. A canine – his name is Porthos.”

“Why would you name your– Oh, never mind that. I have never tasted one, such a shame. Would you be willing to exchange yours for the data you seek?” the creature asked, its long green tongue swishing out of its fanged mouth, saliva dripping from it in great big lumps.

Archer could only stare at the screen, mouth wide open in surprise, half trying not to throw up. Much worse than expected, damn it. “Absolutely not!” he finally snapped. They would simply have to get the information some other way, he was not sacrificing Porthos that easily! “Porthos is my pet, my _friend,_ and he is in no way a meal!”

A weird sound, almost like a startled yelp came across the commlink, but the creature didn’t look very saddened. Or angry. Not that they would know if it did, but just in general–

“Well then,” the creature said, “I see I will just have to satisfy my hunger with something else. Actually I am quite happy to have encountered your ship, for I see you are of the same origin as what I had picked up earlier and had thought to devour.”

Archer’s mind began to work frantically through different scenarios of what exactly that statement could be implying. Another animal from Earth? Something from their solar system? Surely not a human!

The creature turned away from the screen and reached for something that was beyond what they could see. They hear rustling noises, something heavy was being dragged until finally, the entire creature was back in the camera’s view, two of its limbs wrapped around its snack.

And it was exactly as Archer had fear, because there, in the embrace of that monster, stood Trip.

* * *

Trip was dying.

He was going to need immediate emergency medical assistance if he was going to make it through this. He could feel his insides twisting in pain.

And yet, he persisted. A poker face and a blank stare. Don’t look anyone in the eyes, if you do, it’ll all be over. Don’t pay them any attention, don’t listen to them, don’t acknowledge them.

It was easier said than done.

Cons moved again, now dragging him almost into the camera, and he could hear Jon and the others shouting.

“What outrage,” murmured Cons to him, and he continued to stare into nothingness, biting his cheek as to force himself not to respond. _Little Devil,_ as he was calling his drone now, was clutched in his fist, his nails pressing painfully into the soft skin of his hands.

He continued to stare lifelessly and unseeingly, for a moment even believing he was going to make it.

For a moment.

And then Lieutenant Reed said, his voice stiff and proper: “With all due respect, sir, we do need our Chief Engineer un-devoured, if possible,” and Trip simply _died._

* * *

As Trip crumpled in front of their eyes, Archer could swear his heart stopped for a moment. Not Trip, his fervent thoughts were saying, _anybody_ but _Trip!_ He was going to feel ashamed later on, for thinking something so seemingly heartless, but at that moment his heart beat too loud for him to comprehend anything but Trip’s body as it convulsed on the floor and–

T’Pol’s cold voice cut through the haze as she calmly stated: “That is conduct unbecoming an officer, Commander Tucker,” and Archer and everybody else realized that Trip was _laughing too hard to breathe._

Even the creature gave what appeared to be a very human-like sight and with much more calm than before said: “Well, Trip, it appears you have just given up the whole thing, haven’t you.”

And then Trip, still wheezing, managed to get out: “Your fuckin’ face, Cap’n–” and Archer promptly discovered he had absolutely no sympathy left for him.

* * *

After making quick arrangements, Archer took T’Pol and Reed with him to the airlock. The alien creature had assured him that their special shuttles would be perfectly capable of performing such a complicated docking procedure.

And know how to do it they did. Archer didn’t even see their shuttle, nor was its approach announced from the Bridge. He suspected that they were using some kind of cloaking device as the airlock was completely empty one second, and the next the upper hatch was already opening to admit Trip and the creature.

Reed tensed, his shoulders straightening even more, but Archer gave him a quick and restrained smile: “I’m sure it’ll be alright, Lieutenant.”

Seeing Trip again, whole and unharmed, nearly made Archer almost forget the reason all of this had happened. Nearly. He hoped things would go more smoothly this time around. This First Contact, they were going to get it right, they _had_ to get it right, and although it pained to admit it, he didn’t believe Trip was the best – or even simply adequate – person for that.

He stared at Trip, who stood in attention, his back so straight one might fear it would crack. He sighed.

Then he put on a friendly smile and nodded to the creature: “Welcome aboard the Enterprise.”

“I’m grateful,” it said, its voice a lot more pleasant, and tipped its head in a half-bow.

Archer went on: “Allow me to introduce ourselves. I’m Captain Jonathan Archer, as I’ve already said. This is Sub-Commander T’Pol, and this is my Chief Security Officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.”

The creature gave each a small bow. “Hello and well met,” it said. “You may call me Cons and I am the representative of the _Considerably Less Welcome._ I believe you already know my companion, no introduction needed.”

Archer finally turned to his friend: “Welcome back, Trip.” There was no reaction besides a small nod.

“Now,” he went on, already preparing to steer the creature through the corridors, “if you’d be willing to join me in the Captain’s mess, we could properly–”

“Actually, I’m not,” Cons interrupted him. “This isn’t a first contact, or an attempt to establish a dialogue. I am here merely as a courtesy to my peers who asked me to deliver to you your Chief Engineer, and that’s it. We have elected not to open any lines of communication between your people and us, for the time being.”

He was shocked, frozen mid-step as he stared at the creature and fought the urge to scream. He didn’t – couldn’t – understand.

“Why?” he finally managed to get out. “We have already met, and–”

Cons lifted one of its limbs in what would’ve been a placating gesture if it weren’t for its rather shiny and long claws.

Archer could see Reed’s hand inching towards his pistol and he gave him a firm shake of his head.

“That is simply what we have decided,” Cons explained. “You are just beginning to explore the universe, and we do not believe that extended contact with us would be beneficial to your development. Don’t worry, you’ll do _great.”_

Now he didn’t even _want_ to keep his fury at bay. Who did they think they were, deciding just like that that humanity was unworthy of their great presence?

“And how do you plan on enforcing that?” he asked. They couldn’t just go on and pretend they didn’t exist, could they?

Cons’ voice was trying to freeze the air itself when it replied: “You are aware that we are technologically far more advanced than you. Even if you look everywhere, you won’t be able to find us.”

“Don’t you think that you are perhaps underestimating us?” huffed Archer.

And then there was T’Pol: “I find your course of action most puzzling. We already know of your existence. We are a space-faring species, you cannot harm us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sub-Commander. Achieving warp is not the end of the proverbial ladder to the top of the mountain of awareness, you have much to learn and discover still.”

“Cons is right, Captain,” Trip suddenly said. If Archer hadn’t been so focused on the unfairness of the situation, he would’ve wondered about the lack of the nickname. “These people, they’re so beyond us it’s ridiculous. Their ships use hyperspace to go one hundred times what we can do right now! And their society is so different than ours that it’s almost impossible to comprehend. I think you should listen to them, Captain.”

Archer was hurt and upset, and Trip was standing _right there,_ next to the creature he wanted to make feel bad but couldn’t, and Trip was _right there!_ “Nobody asked for your opinion, Commander. Besides, you’re the one that gave them their first taste of humanity, and this is what they decided. Just what did you screw up this time?!”

Trip’s eyes widened and he went pale. Archer immediately regretted everything that had just come out of his mouth, but it was already too late.

Cons was staring straight at him. “Believe me, Captain, Commander Tucker was most pleasant and engaging company. I have truly enjoyed our voyage. Our decision was made independently of his being aboard, but even if it wasn’t, his actions would only count in favour of your species. Captain.”

That was quite a reprimand, and everybody knew it. There was now an uneasy silence between the officers and the alien that was finally broken by Trip.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered, turned around and fled.

Archer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was inappropriate of me to doubt your judgement.”

“Would you permit us to state our case before confirming your decision?” T’Pol asked the creature.

He was really glad she did, as he was thinking the exactly same thing, but his pride did not want to plead not even for a second.

Cons gave a small bow: “We have made our choice. But don’t despair, we will undoubtedly meet again. Perhaps in a few years, perhaps a few centuries. As I have already stated – do not worry, you will do great. Great things await you, Enterprise. And now I must go.”

The airlock behind it opened without anyone even glancing at the control panel. Through the other hatch empty space could still be seen, the shuttle still invisible.

“Wait,” Archer hastily said, “Can’t you at least– _Who are you?”_

Cons stepped into the airlock. “It won’t help your search any, but. If you really want to know? We are the Culture. Remember us. Or don’t.”  



End file.
